


Windows With Character

by Voodoosgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jealous Steve Rogers, M/M, My First Smut, POV Bucky Barnes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut more than porn, Steve makes his feelings known, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voodoosgirl/pseuds/Voodoosgirl
Summary: Bucky and Steve are living together, not lovers, just best friends. But they fight like lovers and this night finds Bucky sitting outside Natasha's apartment at midnight. It seems sleepovers can be revealing!





	Windows With Character

**Author's Note:**

> Love Stucky but these two are fascinating and happen to be canon. My first smutty story. Feedback and constructive critiques are welcome! Thank you!

The thermostat jiggled in defiance of Natasha’s Midnight Blue-clad fingernail as she encouraged a few extra degrees of warmth. The brownstone apartment had all the old features that would charm a worldly soul such as herself. Hardwood floors that breathed with every step; windows banked in a curve, imperfect wavy glass that rattled when the window moved.

“Gives it character,” Steve said when they looked at the place.

Two old souls had loved it. Steve gushed. Bucky leaned by the front door and shrugged. “What the hell do I know?”

Now, Steve and Bucky resided three blocks away in a retrofitted loft with state of the art heating and cooling.

She, on the other hand, adjusted the rolled up towel blocking the draft from those character windows. Steve’s idea.

“Thanks a lot, Rogers.” A grumbling sarcasm as she adjusted it for the tenth time that evening while contemplating crashing at their place.

A peek out the window changing her mind. First, it was snowing enough to remind her of Mother Russia.

Second, the life-sized snowman frozen to the bus-stop bench appeared to have a metal hand. An esoteric touch that the local kids likely wouldn’t have incorporated in a real snowman.

**************************

 

“What are you doing?” Shivering her words despite the parka, the faux-fur hood nearly covering her eyes.

“I’m waiting for the bus,” Bucky answered. "Ain’t it obvious.”

A need to point out, “It’s midnight.” 

“So what?" He countered.

“There are no buses at midnight." An obvious rebuttal.

He stuttered, “Still waiting.”

“No buses." A statement of fact, followed by her offering, "Come inside."

Stomping her feet, a testament to the frigid air, definitely not from frustration. Maybe.

“Nope. I can wait," Living up to his reputation as stubborn.

Hands shoving deeper into pockets, “You’ve got an inch of snow on your head and pajamas on.”

“No, I don’t.” Shaking his head, just in case. Adding for clarity, “Not pajamas - sleep pants. Steve says so.”

Natasha's gaze scrolling down his body, back up again, snow-topped hair, unzipped jacket, fleece pants, distinct markings, tiny Captain Ameria shields imprinted across the fabric.  Wind chill leaving icicles on her lashes, "I'll call Steve to come to get you." A decision made, she followed her footprints back to the building, no sense arguing when Bucky remained stoic.

Her gamble paying off, his footfalls trudging along behind her. 

 

 <<<<<<<<<

 

Natasha pulling her robe tighter, shivering as she tossed her bobbed red hair back and forth, ridding herself of the remnants of snow.

“You boys had another fight?”

“No.” Bucky hovering by the door. His ‘go-to’ location when visiting Romanova even with Steve. Returned to their world for a year now; never out alone, always close to Steve. They worked together, lived together, ate together and slept separately.

Natasha didn’t ask why.

It was obvious to everyone around them they belonged together, should have been lovers, maybe someday they'd wake up to the truth. But the bottom line from Steve, too-much-information, Rogers it wasn’t in the cards.

Natasha lounged at the table, watching him drip melting snow onto the floor. “Take off your coat and boots.”

Blinking in response much like her cat, acknowledging her command but damned if he’d obey.

“Quit standing there like a monument, get the coat and boots off.”

Bucky remained unmoved. She made him twitchy in not a good way. He never quite rid himself of the unsettled feeling that she’d garrote him just for entertainment's sake. A Red Room Widow after all and he’d shot her. Twice. He was sure of it.

“Barnes, you’re dripping on my vintage hardwood floors. Get the boots off and put them in the hall or call Steve to come and get you.”

Bucky debated staying, or leaving, or just standing there for a while longer, dripping. Just to be contrary or maybe to be a hint of a jerk.

But the fight with Steve was a big one. No punches were thrown, but painful words spoken, the kind that takes a lot of sitting in the snow to rethink and get over -- or not.

Venturing into uncharted territory, kicking off the boots, he hung his jacket by the door.

“I was going to the shooting range.” Mumbling a defense, damp socked feet cautious padding to join her at the table.

“At midnight?” Her skepticism clear.

“Yup.” A succinct response.

“In your pajamas? Oh, sorry - not pajamas. Sleep pants? And combat boots. And a matching Captain America T-shirt.”

A tilted head smile, maybe more like a kind-ish smirk.

His ass almost, very nearly there in the chair when she added; “Must be casual-night at the range.”

A raised eyebrow following the almost smirk underscoring her 'You’re actually full of shit but kinda adorable too' vibe.

Although he didn’t quite read it that way.

A flush of heat spreading across his cheeks, definitely not a blush. It was hot as hell in there. A stuttered halt to his flirtatious encounter with the chair, never mind the hint of a flirt with her, a move to retreat a few steps back towards the door. 

“How about some Sleepy Time Tea?” Her quick move towards the sink not anticipated, filling a tea kettle; remaining true to her Widow skills of stealth and speed.

A change up to their dynamics by moving from her seated position, leaving him stuck in no-man's land, caught out in the open like urban warfare gone bad. A glance back at the front door - safety zone; coat, boots, exit. Quick reconnaissance of the room, eyes darting to the chair - new territory, good cover. The table flipped as a barrier, strategic inventory: bowl of fruit, salt and pepper shakers, sugar bowl, candle. Weak defenses still workable as a distraction should she try to kill him, or worse. 

Trapped between the two locations, with her, both of them standing right there out in the open. He, in his sleep pants, wet socked feet, dressed in all things Captain America. She, wrapped up in an oversized crazy looking blue fluffy robe slipping open in the front enough so he could see pink skin. A lot of very pink skin, or a lot of skin that proved to be surprisingly very enticingly pink.

Uncharacteristic uncertainty prevailing, struggling to categorize these new twists to their relationship.

His eyes skimming slowly past the pinkness, shuffling to the floor to settle with some relief on her toes; blue toes, well more specifically Midnight Blue-clad toenails. Not that Bucky knew anything about the various high-end nail polish colors or even the not so high-end colors. He knew nothing about anything at the moment except guns and knives and that he really just wanted a cup of tea.

Forcing his eyes to settle on --- the ceiling. Painted decorative tin, old-fashioned, a nostalgia wave washing over him, twinges of 1940's like he was home, that home, the old one long gone by now. Willing his anxiety to flow downward to tap out through curling toes.

“Come on Barnes.” She spoke what he was thinking. 

“Your tea is up there.” Pointing up, then waving her hand in front of his face to get his eyes to follow her point to a cabinet over the sink and very clearly over her head.

"Safe enough." He thought. But the sleeve of her robe fell to her elbow, capturing his gaze, the long, graceful arm leading to the slender extended finger with that same blue tone pointing at the unreachable shelf. Drawing him in. 

Swallowing past a very dry throat. A good enough excuse to get the tea, dry throat, right? Never mind it was his favorite.

“Why do you put it up there? You can’t even reach it.” Bucky’s feet inched closer, wary. A keen assassin's eye didn't miss that she had nothing on under the blue fluff. Naked had no bearing on her skills as a Widow, always a formidable opponent, not to be trusted even if the stakes were a single cup of Sleepy Time Tea. 

“I suppose you want me to get it.”

“If you want it, yeah, you’ll need to get it.”

That little tilt of the head again. Unnerving him more than he wanted to admit. A full-on assault preferred to the coy head tilt that seemed to always accompany how the corner of her mouth ticked upward in a smirk.

"Be careful, woman. I’m lethal too." His warning kept entirely to himself.

But he wasn’t feeling it. Not the fighting part anyway. For a fleeting second before stepping into her personal circle he imagined having to fight her right there in the kitchen, blue robe, pink skin, Midnight Blue nails and all.

His dick twitching faintly as his mind’s eye pictured their closeness:

Her hands on the counter, a knee jamming into his groin.

Metal hand blocking, spinning her. 

Flesh hand caressing the back of her neck, holding tight, pulling a gasp.

Blue robe falling away, shaken down by his hard grip.

Snaking metal arm around her body, sensors firing rapid pressing to warm pink flesh. 

Her elbow crashing into his side, huffed air his response, her blow held back enough, not breaking his hold, allowing their intimate fight.

Imagining the move he hated, her swinging up, wrapping her thighs around his neck, pulling his face between her legs. Not hating it there, the aftermath his issue. Uncertainty not a familiar feeling in his fights. Wanting to win, to defeat her--and yet--not really wanting to win at all. Maybe just wanting to stumble back and trip over something to make the whole scene devolve into an accidental personal encounter of the embarrassing kind. Not that he would have done that as the Winter Soldier. Nope. No such thoughts then. But now... 

This. He remembered. The feeling of being right there between her legs, her thigh muscles tightening, choking him, long slender fingers tugging at his hair, digging into his scalp. The promise of all that dark warmth just within his reach sending a shiver down his spine and a not-to-be denied twitching in his groin.

‘Wait! What the hell? OK, pal, these thoughts are not allowed. Nope, not at all." The internal lecture an absolute mimicry of Steve's voice.

 

“Barnes? Hello? Are you getting the tea or are you having a petit mal seizure? I can’t tell, honestly.” Natasha's stare too close for his comfort. 

He shook himself out of his intense, not allowed, but actually rather stimulating musings. An edging closer to the cabinets, target set, top shelf noted. 

No secession of any ground on her part when he entered her space.

His pajama-not-pajama clad hip tenuous encountering her plush terry robe slowly moving closer to the point of actual firm contact. His thigh pressing against her hip. "Damn woman, move over." His brain complaining. 

“No really. Move over. Give me some room.” A blurting out of his thoughts.

“Sure. Am I making you uncomfortable, Barnes?” A languid shift to lean against the table allowing the distinct vantage point of watching him from behind. For purely defensive purposes of course.

“No. You are not." He lied.

“Good. You know you’re welcome here anytime. Even without Steve.”

“Steve, who?” A mumble as the search for the tea continued, his cock twitching again replaying the waking dream fight.

He thought he heard her laugh. “So, what did you fight about?”

Not actually listening. Bucky never had a real answer. It was always "Nothing."

Instead, she watched him. Easy to do. It was hard to believe sometimes that he was -is - a feared assassin; a weapon to some, a mindless killing machine once and now working at redemption. Capable of death and destruction yet anxious in public. A lethal force, lover of Sleepy Time Tea and afraid of her cat. Never letting Steve Rogers out of his sight, fighting like lovers but refusing to sleep with him.

Maybe all of the above is what made him so appealing to her; the dichotomy that is James Buchanan Barnes.

Switching gears as he mumbled on about her storage skill, time to appreciate some of the baser aspects of the man. A studious review of the not-pajama pants damp from the snowy wait at the bus stop. Clinging to firm roundness, dipping into the cleft enough to give a titillating view of his ass, rippled muscles stretching with his reach, each step, and subtle clench and twitch showing through the wet fleece.

“You know about Instagram, Barnes?” A brief consideration to a shot of his anonymous ass clad in all things Captain America shared with the other Avengers. Of course, they’d guess who it was. "Too much backlash." She resolved.

“You’re checking out my ass, aren’t you?”

“Nope. Just admiring your work out routine.”

“I don’t work out.” The elusive tea bag carefully placed in a mug without him turning around.

“Well. Imagine if you did.” The kettle whistling for attention.

A move closer to him again, pouring the water, steam rising in curls between them.

“Don’t look at my ass. Steve will get mad.” A metal finger poking in the hot water, a close study of how the tea seeped and swirled as he stirred.

“I didn’t think Steve had a say in it.” Leaning against the counter, the tease of her hand against his flesh arm sending a subtle tingling wave coursing down to his fingertips.

“Steve has a say in everything.” Retreating to a chair at the end of the table.

“Is that what you fought about tonight?” Undaunted and following.

“Nope.” 

Her hand came to rest close to his, flesh near to metal laid out on the table.

“Who started it?”

Her littlest finger brushing against the metal. A not accidental touch pulsing insistent across the man-made neurons to fire across the divide into his flesh.

“He did.”

Bucky didn’t shy away from the touch. Eyes following that tiny blue nail. Wondering how such a small thing could send sparks to his brain like that.

“Of course he did.” Fingers caressing the cold digit, long slow feather-light strokes down and back along the surface. Overloading data signals crawling up his arm, through his shoulder, shooting straight into his brain. Arm sensors relayed signals every minute of every day, hot and cold, firm and soft, warnings of danger and pressure but this-this was not in recent memory, if ever. The soft heat of pleasure threatening the circuits and his sensibilities. A vague thought the whole thing would malfunction.

“He yelled at me." His words stumbling. 

Gaze locking intent on her touch, following the gentle slow exploring strokes along his fingers. Casual touch not allowed in the aftermath of Hydra, overwhelming pain, waking and sleeping nightmares of insistent hands and angry forced encounters. Only Steve bridging that divide. A pat on the shoulder or cheek in public. In private; a hug, or sit thigh to thigh close, or mess up his hair. Quick and brotherly. Lingering at times, a hint of something hidden beneath the surface never allowing their connection to bubble over into anything more than friends. Shared touch not like this, open and direct exploration of his arm, purposeful touching of his skin, kindness evident, asking permission with her eyes. 

“About what.” Her voice sounding distant.

“What?” Not sure he wasn't dreaming.

"What did he yell at you about?”

  
“I...I don’t remember.”

Staring at her blue-clad fingernail, enticed by her tracings, circles, and lines drawn unseen but more than felt on the back of his metal hand. Slow, gentle circles slipping around repeated to catch the seam between the plates like a wave then surfing onto the next surface. The fight with Steve slipping away; coherent thought slipping away with each swirling movement along the tiny gaps of space.

Wondering how tiny fingertips could produce such fine points of heat burning into the metal. His eyes locking solidly on that amazing finger as she worked it along his arm as if it was flesh. Caressing, squeezing, drawing away his energy, shoulder releasing the tension that held the hand always ready, tight and tense. Giving in to her insistent touch as it washed away his self-preservation instinct.

Allowing her in.

Caressing his wrist, rolling his hand over to examine it. Seeing his own body in a whole new light himself. His shoulder twitching with the new sensations, his breathing deepening with each passing minute. Lost in fascination at how she could bring so much feeling to life in his arm of seventy years.

He bit his lip, an odd sense of hunger growing deep in his gut, wanting more of something that wasn't the tea.

The fire in his brain spreading to his chest when her bare skin laid along his arm, fingers slipping between his; her palm lying flat matching his. A stifled quick breath as she pulled the robe sleeve up exposing her arm, matching skin to metal. Foot twitching when the bare skin of her toes dug hard into his arch.

Her robe slipping open, body pressing close, matching calf to calf, thigh to thigh, full touch in ways not recalled in ages. Body weakening from the warmth, gentle touch, wanted not hurtful or unasked for, intimate connection with a person known and trusted. Mind and body craving more, not pulling away, no flinching at the touch,but leaning into it, asking and opening, welcoming her body pressing against his own.

Slotting her fingers between his metal ones, tightly fitting them together, trusting his control, tugging against the pressure, allowing him to close his fingers between hers, clamping down into a delicately balanced fist of pleasure and pain. 

Breathing in small barely audible pants, her hand slipping from between his fingers, dragging her arm up his, wrapping firm around his bicep; grasping tight, digging in fingertips, searching for the missing pulse. Exploration drawing his breathy gasp, breasts pressing against metal, sensitive fibers pulsing what felt like ancient messages, a woman's flesh pressing to his body. Blue-clad nails clearing away the sleeve of his T-shirt, exposing his shoulder, tracing the edges of muscles not soft and giving, still responding though to her touch.

Tearing his gaze from her hand, gray eyes locking on hers.

Smiling that crooked smirk of hers; not sarcastic but, knowing. Sure of his undivided attention.

Bucky didn’t care. He’d let her win this one.

Gazes keeping intense locked together, eyes following her lean towards his shoulder, lips slow pursed to touch gentle to the metal, leaving a kiss. Quick rushing shudders tearing through his body, an attempt to control the wake, her smile telling he was failing, her tongue dragging across his bicep going in for her next move. 

Bucky pulling in a ragged breath, eyes clamping shut, body shuddering with the flood of sensations.

“You OK, Barnes?” Invitation clear, voice deep rasping next to his ear.

“Huh? What?” Shaking his head, eyes opening, tensing at her body closeness.

‘I’m touching you. I’m sorry. I should stop?”

“Yeah. No. No. It’s OK.”

His hand jerking reflexive. 

Her jumping inches away. 

“Sorry. Sorry. It was reflex.” Voice rasping. 

Her pulling away greater.

“No. Don’t stop.” His whisper, close to pleading.

“Steve doesn’t touch you like this?”

“Huh? No. Not like this, not at all.”

He laid his hand flat on the table, palm up, offering it up for examination.

A smile, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, lifting his hand to her mouth. Her eyes met his, holding control, keeping his gaze captive.

She slowly laid soft caressing motions with her tongue along the surface of his metal fingers. Lingering at each juncture when his lashes fluttered, or his breath caught in secret. She read each twitch and barely there moan building upon his response. His holding back evident, struggling to not allow himself to feel this, not letting himself take the pleasure. But it was there, she could see it hidden underneath all that fear of falling.

“Can you feel that?” She murmured.

He nodded.

Smiling again, taking his finger deeper into her mouth. A gentle pull with her lips changing his expression, eyes closing, tongue reaching to taste his own lips, her mouth pulling along the metal digit, a hint of a popping sound pulling it free. Taking advantage of his closed eyes, a grasp of his flesh hand dragging her tongue across his inner wrist pulling a moan, his head moving in, mouth reaching for her mouth lips nearly connecting. Breathing quickening with her bare foot snaking its way up his leg digging deep into his inner thigh and grazing cautious along his growing erection. Caressing his cock slow with her foot, a delicate balance of pressure and teasing.

“You still OK, Barnes?”

"Uh huh.” He nodded. “Are you seducing me, Widow?”

“Yup. Are you seducing me, soldier?”

"I don't think so. I don' t know."

“You’re wet, soldier.” Whispering close to his ear. He didn't deny it.

Slipping her hands beneath the T-shirt and dug her fingers into his skin. Deep lines of pressure across his abdomen, up his chest, her fingers toying with his nipples. Twitching at her touch to his skin.

Pressing forward, letting her hands wander along the lines of scarring that told his deepest darkest story. 

A jerking withdrawal from her touch.

She felt it.

“Steve doesn’t touch you like this?”

“What? Steve? Damn Widow, don't talk about him right now.”

He tried to control his panting breaths, he struggled to get his thoughts in order, but the heat of her body on his, her hands tightly grabbing at his chest, he wasn't sure he wanted his thoughts in order-this was working just fine. 

He leaned towards her again, bringing his mouth close to hers, nearly there for the kiss. But not quite. He hesitated.

“Maybe we shouldn't be playing like this.” She offered.

“Are we playing? Right. Maybe I should go.” But the rasp in his voice and the darkness in his eyes told her otherwise.

 

She withdrew in a heartbeat.

Bucky stared at the table. Feeling strangely and suddenly cold.

“It's snowing heavy. It's late. Why don’t you stay.” Pulling the robe tight again; she spoke towards the windows.

“Steve will worry when I don’t come home.” 

“Call him. Tell him you’re here. Staying over.”

"Tell him the truth." He thought. "I’ve got a hard-on for Romanova?" But there was no denying the evidence, his cock was pulsing with his heartbeat. "For a Widow no less." 

“I should go.” He stood, resisting the urge to fiddle with the wet spot on his pants, he headed for the bathroom.

She followed him.

“Ah, I gotta take a leak.” He tried closing the door.

“Oh. I thought maybe you were coming in here to, you know, masturbate."

“No. What makes you say that?” Unnerved that she read his mind.

‘Why do that when we could take care of your -problem- the right way.”

“What problem.”

“That problem.” She carefully drew one finger along the shaft of his still very erect cock.

A pulled in breath, not wanting her to see his feelings, trying to hold it close, old habits dying hard, holding the moans and panting close, hiding the shivering want. No denying how she pulled this from him, as much as his want for Steve existed, nothing was going to happen with beyond their friendship, he was sure of that. Romanova is real, how she was making him feel right now was real.

“What do I tell Steve?” Eyes closing reflexive as he let her explore between his legs, caressing his cock, flirting in ways he hadn't invited in too many years.

“Nothing. You’re not cheating, Barnes, you two aren’t a couple. Not like that.”

“Lie to him?” He looked at her. Hands falling to her hips, slow rocking her forward, grazing near to his cock. “Look at me. Do you really think I’m capable of that? I can't lie about eating the peanut butter never mind having sex with you.”

“Then we don’t have sex, we pleasure one another.” Her hand slipping beneath the T-shirt, thumb digging across his abdomen, slipping down below the waist of his pants, exploring deeper until her fingers grazed along the thick hair surrounding his cock.

“That’s still sex.” A whisper pressing close to her ear. A scent of roses or flowers, something sweet, his mind rolling in a bed of flowers just from brushing against her hair. Squeezing her hips, pulling her tighter against his body, burying his face in her hair. 

"Sex, pleasure, fucking-whatever you want to call it, Barnes, you don't answer to him." 

"I should go." Mumbling with lips pressing to her temple, his hands never letting go. Wanting to feel more of her, wanting to know what touching curves and dips might feel like again, memory no longer serving his recollection. Holding back his metal touch, so much death unsure he could touch with tenderness. Flesh hand wrapping around the small of her back and wandering down her ass, pulling her tight, smaller body fitting to his, desires growing, not afraid to let her know of his body's wanting her.

“Barnes. No more talking.” Words spoken mouth pressing to his, no chaste lip contact, no polite introductions, but full-on hungry kissing, tongues pressing deep. Toying play of teeth to his lip, pulling at his flesh, tongue slipping to soothe teeth marks, sliding deeper, her mouth open and asking, inviting him in, his tongue caught by her again, pulling hard, her release to smile at the sound of the former Winter Solider's whine.

He panted a breath and pushed back hard into the kiss, pressing her back into the wall. Hands slipping beneath the sea of blue terry.

She pushed space between them.

“What? Stop now?” He rasped but complied.

Her robe fell to the floor. His eyes darted to the door; then the floor, but settled finally on her body. All the curves and lifts; pink skinned warmth.

The scars caught his attention, he bit at his lip. Evidence of his own work.

“Barnes.” Lifting his face to look at her, “Ancient history.”

She took his metal hand and placed it on her breast. 

His eyes fell on her skin beneath his hand as he gently closed the fingers, holding her, releasing again. Closing his eyes to let the sensation course through the sensors. Dragging the metal thumb across her nipple, circling it, pushing so the metal would catch sharply against the edge of her flesh pulling the moan and breath from her. Her gasp went straight to his cock, pulsing into his groin. 

The next move easy, they’d done it before. Lifting her up, legs wrapping around his waist, hands on his shoulders, heels digging deep into his back, holding her pressing against his body.

Bucky lost all thoughts, all focus on the tight warmth of her thighs wrapping around his waist. Quiet moans with every thrust of her tongue delving deeper into his mouth, pushing back, matching her every lick and bite.

Pulling his hips deep between her legs, driving her heels in, the wet warmth of her darkness pressing hard against his cock. 

No holding back the whine, dragging her hands into his hair and pulling his head back. Pausing breathless. Hips pinning her to the wall. Her legs trapped him tight, the heat of her hold filling him. 

An attempt to return to their kiss, pulling his hair to prevent it. Trying to bring his mouth to her breast; again holding him tight, tugging at long hair, dragging his head back, she bit at his neck, drawing a gasp. 

Tongue burrowing into the dip above his clavicle; right next to the metal; daring to tease along the scars, tasting the junction of flesh to metal, pulling deep moans, breathing staggering, her mouth doing what she wanted to him, forcing him to forget at least for a moment.

Shuddering taking his body, so hard his hands faltering, near to dropping her, except for her legs tight wrapping his hips, holding herself in place.

He shook his head growling to break from her hold on his hair; struggling playful and serious before pinning her hands above her head.

Hanging there in a pause, regrouping, hot sweat mingling, muscled tremors, watching one another, pupils blown dark and wide.

“You win.” She whispered in his mouth; resisting the kiss he tried to bring in.

Moving his hips slowly, rhythmical, pressing against her, pushing up into her space; drawing little gasps of breathy air.

The sounds he drew pushing him for more, mouth finding her breast. Not able to recall the last time he found himself in this position. Trailing teeth-bared kisses on her skin leading down to her nipple; he drew it out slowly, listening to her faint gasps and moans; wanting more, both of them wanting more.

Tongue flicking hard against her nipple, the taste of her skin rolling across his senses and dissipating too quickly, bringing his tongue back again to rake across her nipple.

Gasping breath pulling in when he caught the bud in his teeth, biting again, arching her back to urge him on, giving her body over to his mouth. 

“Get those damn pants off Barnes.” Rasping harsh in his hearing.

“No, wait. I can’t.” 

“Put me down, I’ll take them off.” A jerking pull of his hair.

“No.”

“Then fuck me through them or get out of here.” Staring at him now. No half-lidded love talk. “Do it or get out Barnes.”

Holding her there against the wall with the strength of his hips, pulling in a breath, mind made up, his hands reaching to pull at his pants. Wriggling free, using his feet to shimmy them off. Damn certain he wouldn't let her out of the hold.

She wasn’t letting him get away either. Hands falling to his shoulders, she climbed up his body, breasts pressing firm against his face; stroking his hair back, leading his mouth to her nipple again.

“God, woman.” Muffled words vibrating against her chest.

Soft laughter from her until clenching teeth tugged hard on her breast.

Movement stopping, hands coming still, breathing quick and close, foreheads together.

Her heat warming his chest right through the damn Captain America T-shirt.

“Do it, Barnes.” Her heels tugging insistent on his ass now. Urging him on.

Panting quick, fighting with his brain to think; fighting off the feeling that he was in so much trouble right now.

“Barnes, now, no going back.” 

His knees trying to buckle, the tip of his cock brushing against her opening with every demanding pull of her heels. Matching her pull with the push of his hips, driving deeper with each pull, groaning with his heartbeat throbbing between his legs.

Dragging in a long steadying breath, his mouth covering hers; hands bracing behind her back, the moment consuming him. Bodies moving to fit together, heels pulling his hips, asking for him to fill her. HIs cautious pushing careful at first, venturing into a place he couldn’t recall being in many years. Cock twitching and convulsing surrounded by her warmth. Pushing in deeper; pressing her into the wall, a forced gasp as he entered her fully, skin pressing to skin. Pulling again at his hair, breaking the kiss, making their eyes meet.

“I want to watch you," mouth grazing his lips, eyes intense.

“What?” Rational thought escaping him, discussion out of the question.

“I want to watch you come," whispered, head falling back to study his response.

Blood rushing to his temples, pounding through his body, Bucky pulling back, not enough to disconnect enough, eyes darting away from hers at first, her hand pulling him back, gaze locking he thrust deep inside; tight warmth grabbing his cock with every movement made all the more intense by her eyes. Each touch of their skin; the tip of his cock raking internal sending shudders through them both. Watching her face with each drive inward, bodies meeting and matching energy, taking one another. 

Knowing she watched him, having his most vulnerable moment unfold with her eyes locking with his sent his cock into spasms of come long before he wanted to finish. Thrusting harder even as he came; re-positioning to help him get deeper; hooking one leg over his arm; she led his hand between her legs, fingering her clit pressing against his cock, bringing her to orgasm moments behind his. The sound of her "Barnes -deeper-damn-Barnes” ending with their huffed laugher. 

"Not bad for a 100 year old man, Barnes." 

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

“So you spent the night at Nat’s place?” Steve’s voice quiet, posture faux relaxed, leaning back to the wall in the kitchen.

Bucky studied the white cardboard box on the table with unusual intensity. “Yup.” Short and sweet, no eye contact. "Oh. Look. Muffins."

“How’s she doing?” Steve's question cursory, they talked on a daily basis.

“Great. Great.” An attempt at a casual shrug.

  
Steve closed the space between them by half, “How was the sofa?”

“Sofa?" Voice squeaking a bit at the end. "Fine. I guess. Why?” 

“The sofa bed. You stayed over.” Steve closed the distance by half again, bringing socked toes pressing to socked toes. 

“Right." A rush of heat flashing, not clear if it came from the lie or the intensity of Steve's close body heat, "I slept on the sofa.”

A quick evasive move, stuffing a whole blueberry muffin in his mouth, licking his fingers for good measure.

Toes may have been touching, didn't matter, Steve moved closer, chest to chest steps forcing Bucky to bump hard against the fridge.

Low, guttural demand for the truth, intense blue eyes, green flecks sparking, “You didn’t sleep on the sofa did you?”

Internal debate, denying means lying, not to Steve, can't lie to Steve. A muffin-filled truth barely understandable "No. No sofa." His best effort to not spit blueberries on Steve and make the whole situation worse.

More truth demanded, “You slept in her bed with her didn’t you.”

“Mm..mmhh” Vigorous nodding, hair quivering, eyes widening.

"You did it. Didn't you? The deed. You and Romanova crossed that line." Nose bumping nose. 

Bucky's internal groan of regret spilling his confession, “I’m sorry, sorry. I slept with her. I did it. I can't lie. We fucked. I really did it.”

Steve's hand sliding firm up Bucky’s chest, sure wide-spread, one finger grazing a nipple, passing it by, to rest tight but not too tight around his throat. 

Blurting his defense, “You look really mad, Steve." Not struggling, not certain if what he was seeing was anger, defending, "But we’re not a couple, remember." Promising anyway, "It’ll never happen again.”

Steve acknowledged, “No, we’re not --- but.”

As close as Steve pressed, he moved even tighter, mouth light brushing Bucky's cheek, warm breath weakening his knees, a pause to allow the tip of his tongue a teasing glance to an ear. “Next time you feel the need to sleep over there.”

Bucky trembling a little, maybe a lot. Vehement denial, voice cracking, high-pitched, “Never again. I swear.”

Steve's breathy laughing words sending a shudder, “Next time. I want you, to call me, so I can join you.”

Closed eyes, body weakening, heat spreading from Bucky's center to race wildfire across neurons aching for this very moment. First kiss, not tenuous, not for Steve, so damn sure of himself. Bucky more than willing, accepting his mouth, his tongue's exploration. Giving in to what he never dreamed would happen. Hoping in secret. 

 

 

Epilogue:

Bucky finished the box of muffins, naked except for his socks, prone on the kitchen floor three hours later. Steve's voice husky, coming distant from the living room, enticing calling, "Buck, let's try the sofa next." 

A metal thumb's up his non-verbal response, before scrambling to his feet. 


End file.
